Cynophobia - The Fear of Dogs

By A.M. Proctor

Big girls don't get taken because all we have to do is sit down and refuse to move. Unless your kidnapper is a determined lunatic who enjoys a challenge. If that's the case, then I suggest you enjoy the wild ride while you can.

 

 

Sammi

 

I love dogs so much I've made them my life's work. As a dog walker to Florida's rich and famous, I should be fitter than I am, but I adore my snacks. Pushing thirty with many heartbreaks under my belt, I was okay with my life until Trapper tore that security out from under my feet. My world shifted around me as his intense stare stoked an ember I'm not sure I'm ready for.

 

Okay, I retract that last part. I've been waiting my whole life for a broken bad boy to look at me as intensely as he does, and I'll face a boatload of nightmares to keep my kinky, dark Trapper.

 

 

 

Trapper

 

My father assigned this looney tune job to me because he wanted to embarrass me in front of my brothers and shame me for a fear he created when I was just a boy. Savage Bastards fear nothing except their leader. I can manage the anxiety the golden retriever creates in me. What I can't control is the growing fear that my world will shatter the only light I've ever found in my dark existence.

 

She'll never forgive me once she finds out the truth about me, where I come from and what I stand for. She can hate me all she wants, but I'm never letting her go.

 

 

Cynophobia is a spicy motorcycle romance with a twist. It carries some dark and taboo themes, including a cult, kidnapping and kink. Sammi's humor lightens the theme with her humor, but she also deals with body dysmorphia. The dog in this book finds a slightly disfunction but loving family in Trapper and Sammi. This book is for adventurous adult readers who enjoy high heat spice. For more information on trigger warnings, please visit the author's website.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Proctor
• Release date: May 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201874063

A.M. Proctor

A. M. Proctor, a native Floridian who lives with her three cats, two dogs, and four angry backyard hens. She has two ponies. She weaves fantastically dark love stories involving humans, fae creatures, and monsters. If you like Tillie Cole, Amelia Hutchins, and H.D. Carlton, you'll love A.M. Proctor's beastly heros and the females that love them. www.amproctor.com

Book preview

Dognapped

~~ SAMMI ~~

IN YOU GO, SPORT.

The golden retriever is already in the van and staring at me with soft, gentle whiskey brown eyes. A whelp from the Best of Breed winner at Westminster two years ago, Sport is far from his home of birth.

While most people tend to rescue a dog from the shelter, people like Sport’s owner buy purebred dogs for status. Sport is pure of heart and has show dog qualities. He could have been the next Westminster winner had a rich dude not purchased him in Florida.

I buckle Sport into his seat belt while dodging his explicit kisses. Valuable dogs must be buckled into the seat and catered to, like my client demands.

Stop that.

My giggles encourage the dog to give me more kisses. I’m sure he doesn’t get to give as many kisses as he wants in his kennel at the beachside mansion. By kennel, I mean an entire wing dedicated to the dog overlooking Belleair Beach. Monetarily, the dog wants for nothing.

Emotionally, I’m sure he’d love to run on that, ‘no dogs allowed’ beach and swim in the forbidden ocean. I’m sure he’d love to spend quality time with his jet set owner. Servants and guards surround the dog at home, but I spend more time with Sport than Mr. Goodman does. This man has no family, it’s just him and Sport. What does he do that pays so damn well but keeps him away from home so much?

I hit the button to shut the van door as I hurry to the driver’s side. I jump in before I notice the man sitting in the passenger seat. My heart seizes with shock before I recognize the man.

Who are you?

My voice comes out a lot more polite than I intended.

He’s wearing the same dark gray pullover hoodie I’ve seen him wearing at the park for the past week. The hood is up, but his profile is etched into my memory.

A week ago, at this same park I saw him leaning against a tree watching the dogs play in the dog park. The wind caught his hood and revealed a fairly attractive face with a shock of wildly wavy, dark brown hair. His green eyes flashed to me as he pulled his hood back in place.

I offered him a smile at the time. He’s got a powerful swimmer’s build that tells me he works out, even though he’s wearing a big old pull-over sweatshirt in the Florida heat. A rebel bad boy or criminal? I dismissed the idea of approaching him. He’s out of my league. I don’t work out and I tend to enjoy rebel bad boys from a safe distance.

A few moments later, he was gone from his shady spot by the dog park.

He’s been back every day since.

A lone figure, just watching the dogs and their owners. The others noticed him too, and there was speculation as to what he was doing there. I caught his eye, and he returned my smile. It was a kind smile. He seemed younger than me then, around twenty-five, I’d guess.

I said to the older lady with the toy poodle, I don’t think he’s doing anything bad.

Anyone wearing what he’s wearing in this weather is up to no good.

Lots of athletes wear sweats when they work out. Maybe he’s just taking a breather.

Now, as I stare at the barrel of the gun pointing at me from the pocket of his pull over hoodie, it looks like I was wrong. The old lady had been right. Who wears a hoodie in the tropics during May?

But then, I’m always wrong when it comes to the opposite sex. I was also wrong to think my average looks and shitty clothing wouldn’t get me robbed either.

I only have ten dollars in my wallet. If you’re taking my van, just let me get the dog out first.

Close the door, Sammi. His voice was conversational and controlled. Like he was a friend.

Do I know you?

No. Close the door.

I pull the door shut but ask, How do you know my name?

Stop talking and listen. He lifts the barrel of that gun and my gaze goes back to it.

I gave up on life five years ago when my dad died, and I quit my safe office job in a moment driven by crazy grief. It was my fault, really. I was the one who started coming in and cleaning the office every Saturday. Nobody asked me to do it and I certainly wasn’t getting paid for it, but I didn’t mind until they got pissed at me for not doing it because my dad was in hospice.

I wish I could say that I stood up for myself for once in my life. I wish I’d gone in that weekend and trashed the joint, then called my boss and told her off, but I didn’t. I just slipped off like a chastised dog and never returned. I never even got my stuff from my desk or my last paycheck. Turns out, nobody cared. They probably didn’t even notice I didn’t show up for work for a few days.

That’s how memorable I am to people.

But to dogs?

They see all the good in me. They notice every ball I toss, every step I take during our walks and they appreciate the affection they receive from me. My clients see how happy their dogs are when they come home at night.

If people greeted each other like dogs greet people, this entire world would be a lot better place to live.

From the outside, it looks like I’m living my dream as a dog walker to the rich of Pinellas County. My sparse friends envy me even as they dismiss my career with phrases like, It must be nice to play with dogs all day.

On the inside, I’m already dead. I took a time out from life to mourn my dad and never got back on track. My dad was the reason I got my first dog walking gig. A sweet old lady who bought a million-dollar condo from my dad needed someone to walk her standard poodle every day for her.

Word of mouth is how my dad made his money in real estate. He knew everyone and everyone loved him. What wasn’t to love? Dad was a good man with a genuine interest in other people. Unlike me, people appreciated him.

Take the dog’s collar off.

You’re robbing me for Sport’s collar? Those aren’t genuine diamonds, you know. Nobody left an actual diamond collar on a dog.

The hood turns my way, and I meet those sea-green eyes. They are extraordinary up close. Lined with thick lashes that give the impression this thief wears guyliner. Haven’t you heard anything I just said?

My lips twitch up into a smile. It’s a defense mechanism. I smile when I’m stressed and laugh when I shouldn’t. Uh, it’s hard to focus when your pointing a gun at me.

He speaks slowly, like I’m simple or something. The collar.

Right.

When dad died, I had a breakdown and retreated into myself. I was an orphan in this big old world. My boyfriend of two years left me the day I buried my dad. The guy who was living with me, dicking me down nightly, didn’t show up to my dad’s funeral because he was late and was too nervous to walk into the funeral after it already started. I didn’t think I could fragment anymore than I already had, but Edward proved to me I had more pain to feel.

That was the day I stopped feeling.

Sport whined and licked my hands as I removed his expensive looking collar. He sensed something was wrong with me, but he was no guard dog. Not that I’d let him attack anyone if he gathered his courage. I’d never risk Sport’s life to save my own. Never again would an animal pay over something stupid that I did.

The thief had large hands with long, elegant fingers. He stuffed the collar into his hoodie pocket next to his gun and left his hand inside. Start the van and head towards Seminole High School.

I put the key in the ignition but glance at the man beside me. He seemed older now. Thirty? You’re not going to shoot up the school. Are you?

Green eyes with golden flakes in them widened slightly with shock. No? Like I’m the one who had the dumb idea to rob someone at gun point today.

I back out of the parking spot at the dog park. I have to get Sport back by eleven.

Sport isn’t going back to his owner today. Now he sounds amused.

I stare over at him and promptly run off the road of the park we are driving through. Keep your eyes on the road, Sammi. It’s a winding, tiny park road.  It’s hard to stay on the road under normal circumstances.

Again, how do you know my name?

It’s my job to know my mark.

Mark? Like you’re some kind of hitman? I bark a laugh. Then you know I’m nobody. Like anyone would pay to ‘off’ me?

Not you. The dog.

I run off the road again in my shock. Sport? You’re gonna kill Sport? Why would you do that?

He sighs, like I’m annoying him. Quit making assumptions. I have no issues killing both of you right now, but those aren’t my orders, yet.

Yet? What the fuck kind of sicko would kill a dog? I get self-defense but... I glance back at Sport, tongue lolled out to the side as he pants with his perpetual grin on his golden face. I swerve again.

His fist slams into the dashboard and I’m shocked that the airbags don’t release at the impact. Shut up and focus on the road. I promise you won’t like it if I decide you’re not capable of driving.

I flinch away from the violence, but a chuckle leaves my mouth. I’m not a capable driver under normal settings. I’m constantly getting flicked off and honked at on the road. My Dodge caravan is littered with dings from parking lot fails. It’s a living metaphor for my stupid life.

He’s staring at me like I’m crazy. He’s not wrong. I’m not a psycho like he obviously is, but I’ve never been right in the head either. I’m the one who laughs at inappropriate moments. I don’t cry at the movies during sad scenes, and apparently being kidnapped at gunpoint by an attractive criminal has me giddy.

Park behind Rita’s.

Rita’s Italian Ice? I love that place! Can I get a cotton candy Italian ice?

He stares at me like I just grew a second head. Like I’m the one with a gun and a fake diamond dog collar in my pocket.

What?

He just shakes his head slowly.

I pull in the tight parking lot, clutching my steering wheel with both hands because me and parking lots don’t get along. We’ve already established that. This isn’t a shopping center ice cream store. It’s a tiny building set next to a residential house behind a standalone convenience store, across the street from the local schools. I think it is owned by the people who live in the house next door, not fifteen feet away from the building. So, when I say the parking lot is tight, it’s tiny. There are three or four spaces behind the building with barely enough room to turn around.

There is a dark SUV with blacked-out windows already parked behind the building. Several other cars are jammed in without rhyme or reason. Because if you have ever tasted Rita’s Italian Ice, you’d understand why people stampede here, especially in the summer. It’s so delicious, my mouth is watering.

My dog kidnapper snatches the keys away from me the moment I turn the van off. Hey!

He scowls under heavy eyebrows. Stay here. I’ll be right back.

He grabs my purse from the floorboard by his long ass leg and jumps out of the van. He leans in and stares at my dropped jaw of indignation. Do anything to cause a scene and I’ll start killing people, Sammi. I’ll kill all these kids and then I’ll shoot the dog. Their lives are in your hands.

Oh my God, you really are an asshole, aren’t you?

You have no idea. His voice rolls over me like deep gravel.

He slams the door and goes to the SUV. The window rolls down and the person inside has his Italian ice spoon in his mouth as he talks around it. I glance around, but I can’t see the families ordering their yummy treats because we are behind the small building.

It’s getting hot inside the van. Sport is panting and I wipe a bead of sweat off my temple.

I reach up and pop the button to open the sliding van doors. They pop open and the motor makes a humming noise as they draw back.

Oh, blessed sea breeze.

I think about unhooking Sport’s harness and telling him to run for his life, but with my luck, he’d get hit by a car. That is, if he made a break for it. He probably wouldn’t leave the van, and if he did, he’d probably just run to his kidnapper to give him kisses. Sport’s friendly like that. I don’t think he got much affection as a puppy.

The driver’s side door jerks open. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

I jump at dog kidnapper’s harsh whisper. It was hot.

I was gone like... never mind, move over. He swings a dark duffel bag at my face, and I scramble to the passenger seat.

The duffel ends up on the floor behind the driver’s seat as the man gets behind the wheel. How do you shut these doors?

I stare at him and he looks at me expectantly. Sport needs some cool water and I want my Cotton Candy Italian Ice.

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

No. That man in the SUV took the time to get some, so why can’t we?

Uh, because you’re the captive?

I snort, my eyes narrowing on him. Uh, isn’t the dog supposed to be the captive? You don’t need me.

He glances back at Sport, and his eyes flare slightly before returning to me. You aren’t going anywhere.

I hold out my hand, palm up, and thrust it at him. That’s right. I’m not going anywhere without my Italian Ice and water for Sport.

What are you holding out your hand for?

I scoff. Because you gave my purse to that man in the SUV, dummy. I need money to pay for it.

We have a glaring contest, but I’m not dying without my treat. Everyone gets a last meal and mine is going to be epically delicious.

He snorts. You can’t be serious right now.

I jut my chin to show how serious I am.

He sighs and says to himself. How did I get roped into this looney tune job?

But he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a leather wallet. Opening it up, he thumbs through the cash and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. I pluck it from his fingers with a triumphant smile.

He warns. We wait until the line is down. I’ll pull up next to the window. If you do or say anything suspicious, I’ll put a bullet in the dog.

I counter, If you kill the dog, you won’t get your ransom.

His upper lip lifts, showing me perfectly straight white teeth. Well, his canines are a bit longer than average, but he sure takes care of himself. I don’t have to kill him. Dogs do fine with three legs.

I frown. That’s mean and messy. Plus, he’d scream so loud, people would call the police for animal abuse.

Funny thing, I just gave my last fuck feeding your insane desire for cotton candy flavored ice.

He starts the van and adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs, then he backs out and pulls close to the window in the building's front.

I ask, What do you want?

He glares at me again. You know, most women would plead for their life right now. A normal woman might have made a break for it earlier when I got out of the car.

Screw that. I’m not leaving Sport behind with the likes of you.

He shakes his head slowly. Did you even think of grabbing the dog and hauling ass?

Well... No. I didn’t want this fool to shoot up Rita’s and until this moment, I thought he would do exactly as he promised. Now? This kidnapper is a softy. He’s letting me go to that window alone to buy myself and the dog a treat.

Do you want anything or not?

Not.

Your loss. It’s really good.

~~ Trapper ~~

I WATCH SAMMI BOP UP to the window like she doesn’t have a care in the world. She smiles brightly at the girl in the window as I strain to listen to what she says over the dog’s annoying panting.

I give the animal a glare and he licks his chomps, flinging spit all over the seat he’s sitting on. Gross. The dog goes back to his loud panting. How much slobber and fecal matter are in this cesspool of a vehicle? Sammi walks five to six dogs a day and they all get to ride in this van.

Silly Sammi is actually going to eat inside this van that smells like dog breath. This girl is disrespectful and more than a little nutty. I know she’s lonely, but she seems perfectly okay with being kidnapped at gunpoint.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a breath of fresh air that she’s not blubbering, screaming and begging to be released right now. That’s the part of these jobs I’ve grown to hate. Everyone assumes I have morals, decency, or can be bought.

It used to be fun to toy with their emotions, but lately I’ve grown tired of the kidnap drama. I prefer to do different missions, but my father knows my weaknesses, and he insisted that I be the one to do this job. I had no choice. When the leader of the Savage Bastards tells you to do something, you do it.

The dog’s owner fucked over the wrong people, and if Goodman had a wife or kid, I’d be taking one of them. Instead, I’m stuck with his dog.

Sammi is just a convenient pain in the ass. I’m supposed to off her and dump her body, but I need her to manage the animal for me. I glance back at the dog and my body tightens as it returns my glance. I scowl at the creature. This isn’t the guard dogs I grew up fearing. It’s a fucking golden retriever, for fuck’s sake, but you can’t reason with fear. My fear is as valid and deep as my hatred for my father.

I rake my fingers through my messy hair. I need a haircut.

Sammi grins at me as she waits for her cotton candy flavored sugared ice. She’s not bad looking when she smiles. A few longer walks with the dogs and a lot fewer snacks and she’d be fit. But I’ve been stalking her long enough to know that she likes her sweets.

She’s completely given up on any attempt to make herself look attractive to the opposite sex. Her reddish-brown hair is up in a messy bun and it doesn’t look like she’s brushed it in a week. The t-shirt she’s wearing is two sizes too big and worn so thin it has holes in the armpits. Her jeans fair no better.

Who wears jeans in this heat? Girls who don’t shave their legs, that’s who.

I’m not one to talk. I’m wearing a fucking hoodie in May. I remove my 9mm and pull the thing off, tucking it by the duffel my guy gave me in our trade off. The duffel is full of cash and weapons. I pull the heavy bag to my lap and unzip the side pocket and pull out the cell phone.

Once it powers on, I punch the address in the GPS. I’ve been to this hideout a time or two, but I always rely on GPS to get me close. I have a two-and-a-half-hour drive into the interior of a state I like to call Hell’s furnace ahead of me.

I glance up and see Sammi balancing three cups in her arms along with some change. She has a concentrated look on her face as she struggles with her purchases. She hands me part of her bundle through the window before opening the door.

I told you I didn’t want anything, and vanilla ice cream isn’t my style.

She quips, It’s vanilla custard, and it’s not for you. It’s for Sport.

She sets her cup in the holder and snatches the ice cream from me as she crawls in the back behind my seat. The dog doesn’t even taste the treat, he just gobbles it down as she laughs and pours water into a bowl she has stowed away back there. He’s slobbered all over her hands, and now he’s spilling water all over the place. She wipes her hands on her jeans and returns to the seat next to me as I gape at her.

What? Her tone baffles me.

Close the van doors.

She reaches up and presses the buttons. I’m never going to press those buttons. Before she can pick up her cotton candy treat, I snatch it up and taste it.

My lips turn up as she whines. Hey. That’s mine.

I smirk. Had to see what all the fuss is about.

She frowns at the cup as I hand it to her. Ewe. I don’t want your herpes.

Says the girl who picks up dog shit for a living and just wiped vanilla flavored dog slobber on her jeans.

She doesn’t respond. Her face is crestfallen. A twist of guilt and excitement thread through me. This is different.

I asked, Do I look like I have herpes?

She shrugs and pouts, still staring at her treat. I turn on the van and pull out of the parking lot, feeling like I shit on her parade and wanting to push her to tears just because I can. I consider taking the cup back from her and having another taste.

You ruined it. My last meal was supposed to be epic.

Fuck if my dick doesn’t jerk at the sullen way she accepts her fate. She knows she’s gonna die, but does she fight to live? No, she fought for a glorified, overpriced Slurpee.

No, I didn’t. I’m free of disease, though I’m not sure you are. She is, I checked her medical records, along with her credit report, work history, social media and bank account.

She huffs and the corner of my lips turn up as I ignore her antics. She’s gonna eat the treat, anyway. I’ll give her ten more seconds before she picks up that spoon. The shit is melting already.

Toss it out the window if you don’t want it.

Ten, nine, eight... I don’t litter.

Seven, six... Yep, I knew it. She picks up the spoon and puts it in her mouth. I watch her smile around the spoon in my peripheral.

For the next ten minutes, I’m distracted by the way she enjoys her treat.

This isn’t me. I don’t feed my captives, much less hang on noises of pleasure. My captives are bound and blindfolded, and they certainly never make little hums of pleasure like Sammi is doing right now.

Twenty-nine-year-old women shouldn’t be as stupid and silly as Sammi is. God, she’s acting like we are just taking a fun day trip in Florida. Part of me wants to throttle her, and the other part wants to tuck that stray hair behind her ear.

I squeeze the steering wheel tighter and the dog barks.

My nerves practically have us wrecking. What the fuck is wrong with that dog?

She twists around and laughs. He sees a dog in the car next to us.

She twists back around and waves at someone in the car. I lift my foot off the gas and let the car pass. What the fuck are you doing?

Large hazel eyes swing my way. Why do you hate dogs and kids so much?

I don’t hate... I stop myself. Don’t call attention to yourself. The fewer people that notice us the better.

She leans back in her chair with a laugh. Right, so now you’re worried about being spotted.

What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe I should tie Sammi up and put her in the back on the floor.

You’re a pretty crappy stalker. You know that, right?

I glare at her. You don’t know shit about me.

While I know more than I want about Sammi. You get good at reading people when it’s your job to people watch.

I know that for a week you hung out in that park pretending to watch dogs so much that the people were thinking you were a perverted dog napper. Oh, wait. They were right.

She has a point. I got too comfortable with this easy peasy job. Too caught up in watching this walking, talking calamity of a woman day and night. There was something about her that intrigued me then. Now, there is something about her that irritates me.

Let me guess, you made excuses to them for me. No way was I a perverted dog napper, maybe I just moved into the area and was lonely. Maybe my dog died, and I was missing him?

She snorts and turns towards the window and I know I hit the nail on the head and drove that sucker home. She murmured to herself. I assumed you were one of those workout freaks who was trying to sweat your body into shape by wearing a hoodie while you ran in the Florida summer heat.

Well, you assumed right and wrong. I am a workout freak and I am a pervert. It’s May by the way.

Her eyes swung back to me. Still too hot to wear a hoodie while working out. You must have heat exhaustion frying your brain.

My brows hit my hairline. My brain? You’re the one acting like we’re friends on a road trip to Disney. Just remember, when you point a finger at someone, three are pointing right back at you.

She huffs and turns towards the window again. She forms a point with her hand and shrugs slightly before dropping it back into her lap. You’ll get caught, you know that, right?

I laugh, a defiant sound. Haven’t been caught yet.

I never thought I’d become a statistic.

I glance over at her again. My damn eyes can’t seem to focus on the task of driving with this distraction next to me. No? I thought women lived their lives in fear of becoming a statistic.

Not me. I mean, look at me. I don’t dress rich or sexy, don’t wear makeup and I’m heavier than I look. Thought I was safe from being kidnapped.

And here I thought you just stopped taking care of yourself after your dad died and became a dog loving hermit who sings Taylor Swift songs in the shower.

She sat up and stared at me. How did you know that?

I smirked with satisfaction. I’ve been stalking you longer than a week, sweetheart.

Don’t call me that, it’s condescending.

All right, Looney Tune. I won’t condescend you before I murder you.

That shuts her up for a blessed ten minutes. I wish it was silence, but the dog in the back is still panting and moving around in his seat. I rely on the fact that he’s securely buckled up to keep my anxiety levels at a minimum. Maybe it’s better for me to keep her talking. Distract me from my personal issues.

Do you have any snacks in that duffel?

She reaches for the bag and I slap her hand away. No, and you just had a snack. You don’t need anymore.

She crosses her arms and huffs. So, you’re fat shaming now?

Again, I gawk at her. No.

She mimics me. You don’t need another snack.

I didn’t say that. I said...

She snaps. I know what you said... Asshole.

Fuck Sammi, I don’t think you are fat. Though, skinny people make my job easier. Less to dispose of.

But you don’t think I’m pretty either.

My jaw tightens. I think you’d be pretty with a gag and a bundle of rope around your wrists as you lay in the floorboard in the back of this van.

She laughs. Hates dogs, kids, fat girls, but is into bondage.

I smirk despite of my irritation. She’s funny. I’ll give her that. Spunky, too. Unexpected, but definitely not boring.

Bondage is part of the job. So is torture, death, blood and gore.

Another abrupt laugh. But dog slobber is super icky.

Putting it that way, I can see how you think I’m a crappy kidnapper. I can’t help the way my lips twist as I say this.

She quiets down for a blessed moment. It gives me time to think as we travel South on I75. We are heading to one of our regular hide outs. A small house on the property of a huge cattle farm mid-state. Believe it or not, Florida is one of the top suppliers of beef. As populated as Florida is, there is still plenty of land to hide on.

I glance in the rear-view mirror to check on the dog. When I don’t see him sitting on the seat, safely buckled to the seatbelt by his harness, my gut tightens. My gaze jerks around to see the dog awkwardly sprawled on the seat, harness twisted but still secured. His head and legs are lolling off the side of the seat.

Is he okay?

Sammi twists around and turns her head to the side. Yeah, he’s just sleeping.

Upside down like that?

She turns back around so she can stare at me. You haven’t been around dogs much, have you?

Not since I was a kid.

Now she’s tilting her head at me. Why?

I glance over at her and return my attention back to the road. None of your business.

She’s still staring at me. I risk another look at her to assess what the issue is. She looks sad. Is that fucking pity? I shift in my seat and force my left knee to stop bouncing.

You know dogs help with anxiety.

While that might be true for most people, it’s the reverse for me. I won’t be admitting that to this girl because she’s smart enough to use my fears against me. 

May I use your hoodie?

Are you cold?

No, I just want to rest my head on something.

I reach behind my seat. My fingers find the thick material and I toss the pullover at her. She balls it up and puts it between the window and her head. I hear her inhale as she tries to find a comfortable position.

Taking my eyes off the road for the hundredth time, I watch her turn her nose to my hoodie and smile. Warmth spreads through my icy soul as I realize she’s inhaling my scent.

I’ve inhaled her scent too.

It’s part of the job to get to know your mark. One must get all the senses in tune with the person you are about to take. I’ve been in her apartment more times than usual for me the past two weeks.

Sometimes she isn’t there, but others...

How can someone be so blind to her surroundings that she didn’t know I was inside the apartment with her? If it were me, I’d know immediately just by the scent of another human in my space. Not Sammi. She doesn’t check her surroundings, barely notices them even. She’s so secure in her own little world that I purposely pushed the envelope.

I purposely exposed my presence at the dog park this week. Testing her to see if she even noticed the creepy guy watching the dogs from outside the fence. The other visitors noticed me, but I don’t know if she did until they brought it to her attention. While the other dog owners scowled at me, she smiled at the monster leaning against the palm tree.

While I’m good at reading people, Sammi is still a puzzle I need to work on.

~~ Sammi ~~

MY EYES ARE CLOSED, but I’m not asleep. I’m not a complete fool. I know this probably won’t end well for me. I still can’t really wrap my mind around the fact that someone has kidnapped me. This guy hasn’t hit me or anything, and I’ve been testing his patience on purpose.

I inhale the lingering scent on his hoodie and smile. He smells so damn good. It’s too bad he doesn’t want me. I mean, I don’t blame him. I have let myself go. Yet this guy makes me want to put in the effort to look better than I do. Why? I have no idea.

I haven’t worn nice clothes since my office job. It seems like ages since I tried to be noticed by anyone. But being noticed isn’t my lot in life. Hell, I was taking out the trash and cleaning the office after hours without pay just because I wanted to be appreciated by my boss. It wasn’t appreciated by her or my coworkers. They didn’t even notice until my dad was sick and I couldn’t keep up with everything and clean the office for free.

I’ve been that girl all my life. The one people take advantage of. Not sexually as often as they just assume I’ll do the things they don’t want to do. Example, cleaning the office on my own time. I should be grateful this guy doesn’t seem to be interested in me sexually.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even give me a second glance. Shit, I can see how cut he is under the tight black shirt he wore under that hoodie. Guys like him don’t fuck around with girls like me. So why am I imagining him naked, his body covering mine as he dicks me down?

What’s your name?

You don’t need to know my name.

Crappy Kidnapper is such a mouthful. I smirk without opening my eyes. I know he’s looking at me like I’m nuts without peeking. I confound him. Heck, I confound me too. It’s just easier to pretend I’m safe right now than to face cold, stark reality.

He already said he deals in bloody gore. I don’t doubt his claim. He’s got that crazy look about him that backs it up. His dark seeps out of him like steam from an old-fashioned coffeepot. He even smells a bit like coffee. The dark spicy roast kind. He just needs a little cream and sugar and he’d taste divine on the tongue.

You can call me Trapper.

Is that your code name?

No response.

Trapper is a sexy code name. Are we flirting now, Sammi? Yeah, a bit.

What is wrong with you? I don’t think he’s asking me this question, but more like voicing his thoughts out loud. I do the same thing. See? We have one thing in common.

Why am I so attracted to this guy? He’s hot, but he’s a crazy kidnapper. I’m not into violent men. Sure, I like